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A BEAUTY OF THEBES 



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JOHN GOADBY GREGORY 






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MILWAUKEE 

1892 

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR 



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Copyrigh ted, jSgi, 

BY 

John G. Gregory. 



^IfSS of 

Cramer, Aikkns & Cramer. 



't^o her dear memory my life who blessed, 

Making this heavy world a Paradise, 
Till summoned hence to her eternal rest, — 
My darling Wife, whose fond, indulgent eyes 
Would bright have sparkled at these pages' 
sight, — 

I dedicate this book of fantasies 
Which her appreciation helped me write. 



GENTLE READER: 

VX/ITH few exceptions, contributions to versified 
literature in this age are like 

"the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
More than a little is by much too much." 

He who is responsible for the present volume 
has made it brief. He feels reasonably confident 
that, despite its imperfections, it will escape the 
reprobation of the judicious; and, having made it 
brief, he hopes that it will not tire. 



CONTENTS. 

Page. 

The Iron Earl 7 

The Clay God lo 

ReSURGAM II 

A Rock-a-Bye Song 12 

The Boy Choir 14 

Married 16 

Song of the Seven-Years-Wed 17 

A Grave in the Sunlight 19 

After an Evening Walk 20 

Ballad 23 

In an Album 24 

To Agnes 25 

The Neglected Grave 27 

From ^sop 28 

Aspirations 31 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

A Lay of Spring 33 

The "Promoter" 35 

An American Philo-Nihilist 37 

A Boston Man -39 

Certain Cataclysmic Sociologists .... 40 
The Beginning of La Grippe . ... 41 

The Passing of Kalakaua . .... 42 

Tabor and the Cowboys 43 

The Modern Sphinx 45 

A Beauty of Thebes 47 



THE IRON EARL. 
Place, England ; time, reign of Edward III. 

"pNVY is rife in Edward's court, and Malice whis- 
pering. 

The Iron Earl from Alsatia stands in favor with the 
King. 

No other in the glitt'ring throng so much beloved 
as he — 

This stranger from the distant Rhine. It must no 
longer be. 

So courtiers, else at variance, on this are in accord : 

To pull the proud intruder from the graces of their 
lord. 

One day, when Edward is abroad, they labor 

with the Queen. 
"What says your highness to a prank to drive away 

the spleen? 
Loose we a lion in the court, to front the Iron Earl 
When down he comes to-morrow morn. An he be 

not a churl, 
No savage beast can do him harm. But 'twill be 

matchless sport 
To note his wonder when he sees the lion in the 

court. " 



3 THE IRON EARL. 



It was a saying, and the Queen esteemed the 

saying true, 

That unto none of noble blood a lion hurt would do. 

All unsuspicious of a plot conceived with foul intent, 

When the rude pleasaunce was proposed, she gave 

her free consent. 



No sluggard is the Iron Earl. He greets the 

rising sun. 
And first of all the household ever is his day begun. 
His nightcap on, no sword at hip, his manly bosom 

bare. 
He strides into the lower court, to seek the fountain 

there. 
With bristling mane, and savage growl, and horrid 

teeth displayed. 
Crouching to spring, the lion waits. Who would 

not be dismayed? 
E'en those who, eager to observe, in upper windows 

lurk. 
Who planned the craven treachery, repent them of 

their work. 

How fares it with the Iron Earl? His stout heart 
does not fail. 
Lion advances. 

"Stand, you dog!" 

Lion's the one to quail. 



THE IRON EARL. 



No beast could brave that dauntless mien, that clear 

and steadfast eye. 
The Earl compels him to his cage, which open 

stands, hard by. 
His nightcap on the lion he sets, before the door he 

locks. 
Then, looking upward to the court, the gaping crowd 

he mocks : 
"Now let the one among you all that on his pedigree 
Stands most — let him my nightcap get, and bring it 

back to me!" 




JO 



THE CLAY GOD. 




THE CLAY GOD. 

A HEATHEN had a god 

of clay, 
To whom he daily used to 

pray. 
"Oh, make me rich!'' his 

constant cry. 
The god vouchsafed him no 

reply. 



At length the heathen's anger rose. 

He seized a club ; he dealt stout blows. 

The god fell broken to the ground, 

While golden pieces rained around. 

You think this ancient story odd ? 

The world is like the heathen's god. 

Petition it in hum- 
ble strain. 

And you may sup- 
plicate in vain. 

But raise a strong 
right arm and 
strike, 

And you can have 
whate'er you like. 




RESUKGAM. \\ 



RESURGAM. 

T ONE mid leagues of shifting sand, 

In a mystic Eastern land, 
Grim a tomb its front uprears, 
Closed for thrice a thousand years. 
Guarding in its secret heart, 
Dead, a monarch's mortal part — 
Dead, embalmed with spice and myrrh, 
Frankincense and oil of fir. 

Cometh one who finds the door. 
Locked and hidden heretofore ; 
Opens, enters, pushes on, 
Far from cheerful light of sun. 
To the chamber, dark and dread. 
Where the king lies buried ; 
Takes a lily-root away, 
In the withered hand that lay. 

Planted in a garden-close, 

Lo ! the lily sprouts and blows ; 

Which a wise man seeing, says : 

" Great is God ! His goodness praise, 

That recalls to life and bloom 

What lay shriveled in the tomb ! 

/;/ this 7-estoratioji, see 

What awaits for y oil and jnef" 



12 



A ROCK'A-BYE SONG. 



A ROCK-A-BYE SONG. 

13 ABY, baby, let us play, 

While we rock-a-bye away ! 
Let us play we are afloat, 
And our rocking chair's a boat; 
Tossing, tossing to and fro, 
As the wavelets ebb and flow. 
'Tis much safer here than there — 
Boating in our rocking-chair ! 

Let us play our chair's a swing, 
]n the woods, where birdies sing; 
Verdant branches broadly spread, 
And the blue sky overhead ; 
Scented breezes round us blown, 
Redolent of hay new-mown. 
Swinging in the summer air — 
Swinging in our rocking chair! 

Let us play our chair's a horse, 
Cantering around a course, 
While the sky with shouts is rent. 
At an old-time tournament; 
You have won the knightly game. 
And the herald sounds your name. 
Cheers arise and bugles bray. 
As we rock-a-bye away ! 



A ROCK-A-BYE SONG. 



13 



Waves and woods and tournament 
All are now together blent 
In the scenes that entertain 
Drowsy baby's dreamy brain. 
Closes now each tired eye, 
Little limbs all limply lie. 
In your cradle now you sway, 
As we rock-a-bye away! 




14 



THE BOY CHOIR. 



THE BOY CHOIR. 

nPHROUGH the closed vestry door, 

Sweet music, stealing 
Into the church, doth pour 

Over the kneeling. 
Now in a burst of sound 

Hear it aspire ! 
Making the roof resound 

Enters the choir. 

Loud peals the organ grand. 

In emulation; 
Loud sing the youthful band 

God's adoration. 
Troubles forsake my soul. 

And it rejoices. 
As o'er its sorrows roll 

Those joyous voices. 

Not always rede and text 

Pierce my conviction; 
But, to my mind perplexed, 

A benediction. 



THE BOY CHOIR. 



15 



Laying sad doubts like dust, 

And rapture bringing, 
Filling my heart with trust, 

Cometh that singing. 
Boys, with your earnest eyes 

And open faces. 
As you processionize 

Slow to your places. 
White- robed, an angel throng. 

Free from earth's leaven. 
You and your sacred song 

Lift me to Heaven ! 




J 5 MARRIED. 



MARRIED. 

/^OD bless them both — the beautiful and bright 

Type of ripe girlhood, and her faithful knight ! 
May theirs be health, and wealth, and length of years, 
And every happy happ'ning that endears 
The fleeting world in which they plight their troth ! 
God bless them both ! 

The fleeting world ! And yet, how long seems life 
When lonely we must face its constant strife! 
A dear companion gives the heart support 
And loving converse makes the way seem short. 
These two, united by the marriage oath, 
God's blessed them both ! 

October 7, 1891. 



SONG OF THE SEVEN-YEARS-WRD . 



n 



SONG OF THE SEVEN-YEARS-WED. 



"PEARLING, seven years have sped 

Since the day when we were wed. 
Seven years, the doctors say, 
Change our "tenements of clay. " 
All the atoms that compose 

My physique, if this be true, 
Now are different from those 
That were duly pledged to you 
Seven years ago to-day. 

These are not the lips, you see. 
That vowed love and constancy. 
This is not the beating heart 
That from yours was ne'er to part. 
Vanished, like the wind that blew, 
Vanished, like the ocean spray, 
Is the hand I gave to you. 
Darling, on our wedding day, 
Seven years ago to-day. 



1 8 SONG OF THE S FA' EN-YEARS-WED. 

But these are material; 
Love's a thing ethereal. 
Love that's genuine controls 
Bodies, not alone, but souls. 
Darling, listen to my vow: 

Changes come as changes may, 
I will love you e'er as now — 
E'er as on our wedding day, 
Seven years ago to-day. 

June 2, 1890. 



A GRA VE IN THE SUNLIGHT. 



19 



A GRAVE IN THE SUNLIGHT. 

"VrOT where the mosses creep 

Over the stones, 
Not in the shadows deep, 
Bury my bones; 

But where the sunlight falls, 

Warming the sod, 
And where the robin calls 

Gladly to God. 

God is a God of love; 

Death means not doom. 
Gate to a life above, 

Shade not my tomb. 



20 AFTER AN EVENING WALK. 



AFTER AN EVENING WALK. 

TL-IOW lovely is a moonless sky, when, seen 

through cloudless air. 
The stars that stud blue Heaven's vault their richest 

luster wear ! 
When Dian shines, her silver beams so prodigally 

bless 
The subject earth, that it takes on part of her love- 
liness. 
And, like a shameless beggar-girl, it uses alms to 

wean, 
By decking forth its own mean frame, attention 

from its queen. 
But stars upon a moonless night small largess here 

bestow. 
And, but for ladies' eyes, no pow'rful rivals have 

below; 
And ladies' eyes, indeed, themselves, oft generously 

turn 
And pay the tribute of a glance tow'rd where the 

bright stars burn. 

What wonder, then, that when we two together 
chanced to walk, 
"Last night of all," the stars became the subject 
of our talk? — 



AFTER AN E VENING WA LK. 2 I 



For never seemed an August sky to me so rich 

bedight, 
Believe me, Elspeth, as the one 'neath which we 

trod last night — 
'Tvvere wrong to term the meanest orb that shone 

a Kohinoor, 
For hkened with its ray serene the diamond's blaze 

were poor. 
We talked of stars, and thus our conversation took 

its way 
To that bright constellated belt which o'er the year 

holds sway; 
And long it dwelt upon the Signs that on "the line" 

appear, 
And dominate, in order due, the twelve months of 

the year. 

Not seldom, what we talk upon intently, gifted 

seems 
To hold our thoughts when we have passed into the 

Land of Dreams — 
That country, peopled by the shapes of freakish 

Fancy bred. 
Where, through a maze of travesty, the wond'ring 

sleeper's led. 
I dreamed last night that partial Fate, by a decree 

benign. 
Sent to me, as a visitor, a bright Celestial Sign, 
That I might mark with mortal eyes, and tell to 

mortal ears, 



22 



AFTER AN EVENING WALK. 



The beauty of ihe 
-___ deathless ones in- 
habiting the spheres. 
Fairest of all the radiant throng, 

Virgo her presence lent, 
To tincture e'en the ambient 

air with lofty sentiment, 
And fill and thrill me with the 
glow which mortals ever feel 
When to consummate loveliness 
and purity they kneel. 

Methought such beauty ne'er be- 
fore did favored eyes illume 
As shone for that brief instant in 

the precincts of my room. 
"Being," I cried, "can earthly 
lips to earthly ears convey 
A knowledge of perfection such as ne'er was 

clothed in clay?" 
Forgive me, Elspeth; when I woke, my mem'ry told 

me true 
That my celestial visitant was modeled after you. 

August 22, 1881. 




BALLAD. 23 



BALLAD. 



T'lX tell you a tale of love and woe 

That happened a hundred years ago. 
The maid was a beauty, pure and good ; 
The lover a handsome hewer of wood. 
Their love for each other was strong and true, 
But a father came 'twixt the doting two. 
His daughter, he said, was a lady born, 
And a peasant youth was beneath her scorn. 
So the pair were parted— the maid to grieve 
'Mid the gayest pleasures a court could give. 
And the lover to toil in blank despair. 
Where the branches creaked in the chilly air. 
The maiden faded, and sickened, and died, 
And they buried her in the countryside. 
The lover forsook his task to rave, 
And killed himself on the maiden's grave. 
Oh, why was a father fond so blind? 
Oh, why was Fate so cruel unkind? 
Oh, why was love so doomed to woe? 
But it happened a hundred years ago! 



24 



IN AN ALBUM. 



IN AN ALBUM. 

A VERSE for Sadie! Smoothly must the flowing 

words advance, 
To rival half the graceful ease of Sadie in the dance. 
Harmonious to the music's sway, which seems her 

form to bear, 
She gently floats along the floor, a being framed of 

air. 
Oh, may her life as smoothly glide ! For her may 

troubles cease, 
Her ways be ways of pleasantness, her paths be 

paths of peace ! 

October 12, 1881. 



TO A ONES. 



25 



TO AGNES. 



T7OR you and those 
This caution flows 
Who with you trod, elastic, 

With shapely feet. 

To music sweet, 
In witching jig fantastic, 



While lookers-on 

Deemed they had drawu 
To Paradise's portal : 

Dancing give o'er, 

Or sorrow sore 
May seize on an immortal. 

No longer trees* 
Sway in the breeze, 

Nor roll of waves of ocean, 
Nor swirling flight 
Of fire-flies bright, 

The poetry of motion 



26 '^O AGNES. 



Now seems to me; 

Instead I'd see 
You four maids so disport all. — 

But dance no more, 

Or sorrow sore 
May seize on an immortal. 

Terpsichore, 

Were she to see, 
Desparing emulation, 

Would rend her hair, 

To caves repair. 
And straight renounce saltation. 

August 21, 1879. 



THR NEGLECTED GRAVE. ' 27 



THE NEGLECTED GRAVE. 

VyEEDS grow on her neglected grave 

Who was so bright and fair, 
Whose beauty once made lovers rave. 
Why are not flowers there? 

Oh, short the term of Sorrow's reign, 
When souls this world depart ! 

The mourners soon know Joy again, 
And take new friends to heart. 



But who should grieve that it is thus? 

The dead need not our tears, 
While living ones depend on us 

To cheer the fleeting years. 

December 5, 1890. 



FROM ^SOP. 



FROM yESOP. 



I. 



VyHEN all the beasts could speak and think, 

A stag stopped at a pool to drink. 
His form, reflected, roused his pride. 
"How fine my antlers are!" he cried. 
But when his spindling shanks he viewed, 
His exultation was subdued. 
"Those legs are really very bad. 
I'll die of shame— or, hold! I'll pad!" 
But hardly had he said his say, 
When hounds and huntsmen came that way. 
He started up in wild alarm. 
His legs had borne him safe from harm; 
But by a thicket as he passed, 
His antlers caught, and held him fast. 
The dogs that tore him heard him say, 
"How foolish have I been to-day! 
Beauty is made to be admired; 
But use is more to be desired." 



FROM ^SOP. 



29 



II. 



A brisk young chicken, seeking food, 

Turned up a jewel, which he viewed 

With superciUous disdain, 

Saying, "You're bright, but give me grain. 

The world's way is to underrate 

What it can not appreciate. 




The peacock once to 
Juno hied, 
Its raspy voice upraised, 
and cried : 
"Exert, kind Mistress, pow'r divine; 
The nightingale — her note make mine!" 
" Oh, envious bird, " the goddess said, 
"Why show'r more blessings on your head? 
No living thing has ev'ry gift. 
The eagle's strong, the falcoln swift; 



so 



FROM .FISOP. 



The halcyon swims, the raven knows 
The future, with its joys and woes. 
To thee, most favored fowl of Heaven, 
Are size and beauty jointly given. 
Seek not for more, or, by my troth, 
I'll see thee dispossessed of both!" 
A moral in this fable read : 
Resentment is i)rovoked by greed. 



IV. 



In time of drouth, when pools and streams 
Had vanished 'neath Apollo's beams. 
Two frogs, prospecting, spied a well. 
One was for jumping in, pell mell. 
The other, wiser, said, "I doubt 
If, once in there, we could get out. " 
Reader, in mind the moral keep. 
Look — always look ! — before you leap. 



ASPIRATIONS. 



3T 



ASPIRATIONS. 

QH, don't you laugh if I tell! 

When I think what I'd like to be, 
It sometimes seems, 
In my waking dreams, 
That my choice is the salty sea, 
Where the bounding billows swell. 
And the "roaring winds do blow, " 
And the buccaneer 
Is without a fear 
For anything, high or low. 

And at times my fancy turns 
To a life on the Western plains, 

As a hunter bold, 

Or to mine for gold, 
And to harvest uncounted gains. 
And my strong ambition burns 
To play a valorous part, 

And a maiden save 

By my conduct brave. 
And cut out an Indian's heart. 



32 



ASPIRATIONS. 



My soul is awake, and bright 
With the spirit of old Romance; 

I'm fitted to grace 

A prominent place, 
And carry the rifle or lance. 
I'd like to have been a knight; 
But these are days of prose. 

I'll probably work 

As a tailor's clerk, 
And measure my friends for clothes. 



A LAV OF SPRING. ^^ 



A LAY OF SPRING. 

TT^HE spring is here ! The householder gets up at 

early dawn, 
And wages war with dandelions that yellow all his 

lawn. 
The apple and the cherry trees begin their buds to 

ope. 
The boys have got their whip-tops out, the girls are 

skipping rope. 
All nature has revolted against Winter's churlish 

reign, 
And seeks to show by overt acts that Spring has 

come again. 
You want to "shake" your winter clothes, and shine 

in something new — 
But stick you to your flannels till your flannels stick 

to you ! 

The spring's a gentle maiden, and, impressionable 

man, 
You'll find that, like the other girls, she'll fool you if 

she can. 
Her temper is uncertain, and of contradictions 

made — 
She's very sultry in the sun and chilly in the shade. 



^A A LA Y OF SPRING. 



It's not your heart, but it's your lungs, at which she 

points her spear; 
Pneumonia imperils you the while that Spring is 

here. 
So heed my words of warning note, if safety you 

would woo, 
And stick you to your flannels till your flannels stick 

to you ! 

Go walking on the railroad track, although you may 

be deaf; 
Start all your undertakings on the day that starts 

with F; 
Protect your vegetable patch by using Paris green, 
And always light your kitchen fire with friendly 

kerosene; 
Be careless with unloaded guns, and let it be your 

rule 
To monkey with the buzz-saw and to meddle with 

the mule. 
But there is need of prudence, and, whatever else 

you do, 
Just stick you to your flannels till youi flannels stick 

to you ! 



THE "promoter:' 



35 



THE "PROMOTER." 

t 

I'M a million millionaire, 

From beyond the bounding sea. 
People such as I are rare 
In this blawsted counteree. 

I have come to buy your mills, 
And your breweries and mines. 

Enterprise my fancy fills; 
I am full of great designs. 

"Don't believe you want to sell?" 
Mustn't talk that way to me ! 

I'm a million millionaire — 

I could crush you, don't you see? 

I have Rothschild at my back, 
And the British syndicate. 

People who obstruct our track 
Will invite a dreadful fate. 

Come and name your figures, quick. 

Forty millions? I declare. 
It's a bargain ! Here's your check — 

I'm a million millionaire. 



36 



THE "PROMOTER." 



That's the way we operate! 

To a million millionaire 
And a British syndicate 

Checks are trifles light as air. 

Twelve o'clock ! That's dinner time. 

Have you any change to spare? 
I suppose you'll lend a dime 

To a million millionaire? 

November, 19, 1889. 



AN AMERICAN PHI LO-NIH I LIST. 



37 



AN AMERICAN PHILO-NIHILIST. 

A S I'm an American, 

I'm a law-abiding man. 
Peace and quiet are my delight ; 
Nothing shocks me like a fight. 

But I never could be cool 
'Neath a despot's iron rule. 
I would be an Anarchist, 
I would be a Nihilist; 
From no crime would I desist. 
Blood ! 

Blood ! 

Blood! 

Till that tyrant ruled no more, 
I would wade in human gore. 
Throne and Czar should topple o'er, 
With a dull thud! 

I would carry dynamite. 
Melinite and zoecite. 
I would ply the torch at night, 
Pistol, bomb, and dirk! 



38 



AN AMERICAN PHILO-NIHILIST. 



I would plot and plan and brood; 
I would poison if I could. 
Pity never should intrude 
In my deadly work. 

But as an American, 

I'm a gentle, harmless man. 

November 4, 1889. 



A BOSTON MAN. 



39 




A BOSTON MAN.* 

HAVEN'T any ek'al fer diversified ability; 
I'm han'some, an' I'm powerful, an' a wonder 

of agility. 
I'm ready fer to act, an' I'm ready fer to 

hammer, 
To elevate de dram or to elevate de dram- 

mer. 
Dey talk uv me fer Congress, an' I t'ink dat 

I would suit. 
De bloke dat says I wouldn't, w'y, I'll biff him on de 
snoot. 



Among de crack saloonkee[)ers dere's lively compe- 
tition 

To get John L. to visit dem an' be on exhibition. 

Full houses crowd to see me, dough I circulate no 
passes. 

I'm a artist, an' a gentleman, an' solid wid de masses. 

I'm a daisy, I'm a rii)per, I'm Apollo, I'm a wizard. 

De stiff dat contradicts me, w'y, I'll pulverize his 
gizzard. 

Dere's nothin' dat delights me more dan lammin' a 

reporter 
An' lettin' de communitv believe dat I'm a snorter. 



*For the Hogarthian realism of this sketch the reader i; 
hereby tendered a humble apology. 



AQ CERTAIN CATACLYSMIC SOCIOLOGISTS. 



I always choose a little man — it's safer an' it's neater. 

But even den it's dangerous — he might have a re- 
peater. 

No station is so eminent but wot it's got its draw- 
back — 

Don't go to argue wid me, er I'll drive your bloomin' 
jaw back. 



CERTAIN CATACLYSMIC SOCIOLOGISTS. 

T SEE a band of earnest souls, 

Who think the world is all disjointed. 

And deem themselves high-priests anointed, 

And other men as blind a^ moles. 

"We'll set things right!" they blithely cry; 
"Let competition be abolished, 
And property, that curse, demolished ! 
Read Henry George and Bellamy!" 

Pshaw ! They should learn before they teach. 
Each plan they urge with such insistence 
Was old ere they were in existence, 

And long, a wrecked hulk, on the beach 

Of man's experience, lay rotten. 
How many people make a stir. 
And claim the name Discoverer, 

Who only drag out trash forgotten ! 



THE BEGINNING OF LA GRIPPE. »^ 



THE BEGINNING OF LA GRIPPE. 



A VVARNIN(; FROM BELGRADE. 

Thirteen members of the Skuptschina are suffering from 
nifluenza. The disease is spreading in this city. — Press dis- 
patch of Decejuber i6, i88g, from Belgrade. 

T7R0M. the snowy steppes of Russia 

(Man's as helpless as a worm), 
Also from the realm of Prussia, 
Came the influenza germ; 

Came the tiny, dread bacillus 
(He had worsted e'en the Czar); 

Came to plague if not to kill us, 
All defenseless as we are ; 

Came unchallenged o'er our border 
(We must bear our fate and grin). 

Sneezing was the gen'ral order; 
The Skuptschina was scooped in. 

On that day of desolation 

(I was too a victim made), 
Sneezed we all "like all creation," 

On the tow'rs of high Belgrade. 



42 



THE PASSING OF KALAKAUA. 



People o'er the broad Atlantic 

(Westward moves the Empire's star), 

Lo, a scourge to make you frantic 
Is approaching from afar. 

Here's a kindly word in season 
(All mankind are kith and kin) : 

Just get ready for your sneezin'; 
Lay a stock of 'kerchiefs in. 

The bacillus, though he's mitey 
(Mighty is the proper term). 

Is a king — Rex Sneezum hight he. 
Man's as helpless as a worm. 



THE PASSING OF KALAKAUA. 

TTIS last bout at the gaming board Owhyhee's 

dusky lord has played. 
The trump that now turns up for him is "the last 

trump of all" — a spade. 
The game was long, the stakes were high; his was 

the highest man could bring — 
His life. He played well, but he lost. Death held 

the ace, and took the king. 

January 20, 1891. 



TABOR AND THE COWBOYS. .^ 



TABOR AND THE COWBOYS. 

A Ballad of Colorado. 

TT was a good ex-senator, in royal raiment drest, 
"To dazzle when the sun was down, and rob 

the world of rest." 
A night-shirt of the finest silk, with ruffles on, he 

wore, 
And in each button-hole there gleamed a precious 

Kohinoor. 

It was a pair of cowboys, and of brigands they had 
read. 

And of knights and princes captured, and a ransom 
on their head. 

Poetical, but practical, one cowboy said, " Per- 
chance 

'Twere well to gild these prosy times with Middle- 
Age romance." 

"You're whistlin', " said his merry mate; "111 tell you 

what we'll do — 
Let's catch his nibs, the Senator, and try to put him 

through. 
I think he'll come down han'some if we only let him 

know 
We've got him where the hair is short, an' he must 

j)ay to go. " 



^, TABOR AND THE COIVBOVS. 



"Brave words, and, by my halidome!" the other 

one replied, 
"Ere yonder sun shall shine again, we'll curb his 

mighty pride ! 
Mark where he comes ! Now pales his star, while 

ours is lustrous yet. 
Now by one stroke to mend our house!" His mate 

repHed, "You bet!" 

But well-laid schemes gang aft agley. The shearer 

oft is shorn. 
Not ev'ry day yields up at eve the promise of the 

morn. 
Those cowboys were out-generaled, and placed 

under arrest. 
Still Tabor and his night-shirt are the glory of the 

West ! 

February 15, 1890. 



THR MODERN SPHINX. . r 



THE MODERN SPHINX. 

A NN O'Delia Diss Debar, 

How I wonder what you are, 
Maid or madame, spook or fay, 
Spirit form or human clay ! 
Puzzling, fanciful and weird 
Forms in which you have appeared 
Throng upon my mental view 
Every time I think of you. 
First a medium and seer 
(And a clever financier); 
Then a birdling (in a jail); 
Then for foreign parts you sail ; 
Then, as birdlings will, you roam 
Back into your Yankee home; 
Then you're Cupid — Cupid ! — zounds ! 
Cupid! — weight, two hundred pounds! 
Cupid ! — with his hair in curl ! 
Cupid ! — acted by a girl ! 
Then you run away and hide. 
Making threats of suicide; 
Then a solid seraph comes 
Toiling in Chicago slums, 
"Vera Ava — English — queer — 
Used to be a nun, we hear," — 



46 



THE MODERN SPHINX. 



That's the tale the gossips tell. 

Vera Ava wields a spell 

Potent over many there, 

And surmises fill the air. 

Soon the rumor spreads amain 

That Blavatzky's back again. 

Poor Blavatzky, what was she — 

Spite of all her mystery, 

Astral body, and ado, — 

To a mystery like you? 

Then, as dives a water-bird, 

When the shotgun's sound is heard, - 

Cleaving quick the glassy pool, 

Sinking in the liquid cool. 

Swimming 'neath the surface blue. 

Rising almost out of view, — 

From Chicago quietly clearing, 

In C'innati reappearing, 

How you thrilled us from afar. 

Interesting Diss Debar ! 

Are you sylph or are you human? 

Are you sphinx or are you woman? 

Solid now — now visionary! 

Vera Ava — ever vary ! 

Much I wonder what you are, 

Ann O'Delia Diss Debar! 



September, 1891. 



A BEAUTY OF THEBES 



47 



"Wl 



Hi 



A BEAUTY OF THEBES. 

W ER limbs how lithe ! Her waist 

how spare ! 
How curiously coifed her hair! 
Her eyes how languorous, but 

bright ! 
Her lips how red ! Her teeth how 

white ! 
But caution ! Play a prudent part; 
Those ripe charms must not win 

your heart ! 
Although her picture we possess— 
Enchantingglimpse of loveliness !— 
Her witching self you may not 

know — 
She died three thousand years ago, 
And naught of her remains for us 
But dust in a sarcophagus. 

In Thebes, in days long gone, per- 
chance 

Those lithe limbs twinkled in the 
dance; 

Those eyes shot looks with mean- 
' ing fraught, 

And lovers' longing glances caught ; 



48 



A BEAUTY OF THEBES. 



The heart beneath that vest that beat 
Felt rapture's thrill; and, smiling sweet, 
Those lips to frame assent did move, 
And pressed the warm, moist kiss of love. 
Ah ! Love's young dream, that lieeteth so ! 
She died three thousand years ago. 
And all of her that's left to us 
Is dust in a sarcophagus. 

No doubt, before her time to go. 
She knew the with'ring touch of woe; 
Those liquid eyes were wet with tears, 
That tender heart was torn with fears, 
Those limbs mayhap were racked with pain, 
Those lips were tutored to complain. 
What signifies or joy or grief ? 
Both they and human life are brief; 
Rest is the end of all we know. 
She died three thousand years ago ; 
Her fate the same that waits for us — 
Dust, dust in a sarcophagus. 



